Kvetching for Dummies: A Torah Guide to Complaining the Right Way

Parashas Beshalach

Complaining has gotten a bad rap. No one likes a complainer, and we’re taught from a young age not to complain. More often than not, complaining backfires, bringing even more frustration or pain. Is there anything good or even virtuous about complaining? Could it serve a productive purpose?

The Jewish people have been complaining since time immemorial, sometimes justifiably, often not. One thing is certain: we always have something to complain about. Arguably, it’s what keeps us going.

As the Jewish people were leaving Mitzrayim, they had just witnessed the makkos and the seemingly complete breakdown of Egyptian morale and strength. They were ecstatic, ready to move forward as a people after generations of darkness. Suddenly, they saw the Egyptians closing in behind them. They looked ahead, only to find the sea blocking their path. Panic set in, as it would for any of us.

From this place of fear, they turned to Moshe and began complaining: What’s the plan? Were there not enough graves in Egypt that we had to be brought here to die? Moshe then channeled their complaints to Hashem, who essentially responded: I hear you, but you need to take the next step. Plunge into the sea. When you show me that you’re willing to move forward, you will encounter miracles and salvation. But first, you must remain silent and let Hashem act.

It seemed that they had failed their very first nisayon, their first test, by complaining. Though I wonder what would have happened had they stayed silent? How would they have known that the solution lay in taking the plunge?

We know how the story unfolds: the sea split, miracles beyond our comprehension took place, and we were redeemed. In the end, their complaint seems to have borne fruit.

This moment became a foundational lesson for the Jewish people, that even when a situation seems impossible, we must rely on Hashem. Later, in Yehoshua, we see a similar dynamic in the battle for Ai. Initially, the Jewish people lost the battle because they had not included Hashem in their efforts. In their defeat, Yehoshua and the Zekeinim literally buried their faces in the ground out of shame. They had failed to internalize the lesson. Victory requires Hashem’s presence. And that lesson? It was only made clear because, in their moment of panic, our ancestors had complained at the Yam Suf.¹

As the Jewish people traveled into the desert, still uplifted from their incredible spiritual experience, they began to feel the strain of physical need. They were thirsty. When they finally found a water source, they discovered that the water was bitter and undrinkable. Frustration set in. This time, they didn’t complain as directly as before, yet their griping and murmuring made their feelings clear. And how could they not be frustrated? There were women, children, babies, and sheep, aside from the men, all waiting desperately for just a drop of water. They had been on such a spiritual high, yet at the end of the day, they were still human. They needed to drink.

Rav Judah Mischel shares an explanation from Reb Dov Ber, the great Maggid of Mezeritch², that the real reason the water at Marah was undrinkable was because the Jews themselves were bitter. “Their negativity and frustration made everything seem bitter, even the miraculous experiences they had just witnessed, like the splitting of the sea. This attitude, this farbissenkeit, a deeply ingrained bitterness, was in a way a rebellion against their Creator. Despite the revealed kindness they had been shown, they still found reasons to complain. After everything Hashem had done, how could they still feel so bitter?”

Rav Judah explains that deep down, they knew they had everything they needed. The problem was that they weren’t yet able to fully accept that they were worthy of such kindness. After generations of suffering, it was difficult to believe that Hashem truly loved them and would always take care of them. The scars of their past weighed on them. Generational trauma like that doesn’t heal overnight, it takes years, sometimes decades, to fully process.

This struggle isn’t unique to them. “Regardless of our personal or family history, there will always be something to complain about, and always something to be grateful for. Whether we are in a period of joy or difficulty, we can always find small opportunities to receive the ratzon Hashem with simchah.”³

Eventually, Bnei Yisrael got their water, but their mistake was in how they approached it. Instead of griping, they should have turned directly to Hashem in tefillah. The Ksav V’Kabbalah explains that, after realizing their error, they did pray directly to Hashem, both as an act of teshuva and as a request for water. Their request was justified, and Hashem responded with instructions on how to sweeten the water.

The bitterness was to be removed through a bitter tree. The Midrash tells us that the cure for the bitter water was not something inherently sweet, but something bitter itself. The lesson here is that true sweetness in life does not come from everything going our way. Rather, it comes from shifting our perspective, focusing on the blessings in our lives, and learning to find sweetness even in the bitter moments.

Finally, Bnei Yisrael arrived at Eilim, where there was plenty of food and water. Though soon after, they traveled toward Sinai, passing through the Midbar Sin, and once again, they faced a challenge, this time, hunger.

Unlike before, they lodged a formal complaint, turning to both Moshe and Aharon. They needed food. They wanted meat. Once again, they forgot that it was not Moshe and Aharon who sustained them, it is only Hashem.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali explains that their request for meat was not unjustified. Throughout the time in Egypt, Bnei Yisrael had often been offered non-kosher meat, yet they had refused to eat it. As the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, they knew they could only eat meat that was properly slaughtered. This commitment to keeping kosher was a tremendous zechus, a merit that, in their minds, should have been enough for them to deserve a peaceful death at Hashem’s hands rather than a slow one in the desert.

The desert, however, is known as the domain of the Angel of Death. As hunger overtook them, they feared they were on the verge of dying. Their complaint about the meat, then, was not necessarily about wanting to eat it, it was about the zechus of the meat they had abstained from. It was a statement: We held strong and kept this mitzvah, and now we are about to die?

Aside from the simple fact that they were starving, they had a legitimate merit behind their words and therefore were not punished for complaining.

Here, we don’t find that Moshe or Bnei Yisrael cried out to Hashem. Instead, Hashem Himself responded: They are right. And so, He gave them the manna.

From all of this, we see a few key ideas:

#1 It’s okay to complain, but it has to be done correctly. Instead of harsh, frustrated outbursts, complaints should take the form of thoughtful, constructive observations. A softer, solution-focused approach is far more effective than simply venting frustration.

#2 We must always remember that Hashem is in charge and that He has a plan. As a friend pointed out, sometimes we need to “read the room.” We need to recognize what is required in the present moment to achieve what we need. Should we yell and demand, or should we take the necessary steps to move forward? As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote: “Happiness is a life lived in the active mode. It comes not to those who complain, but to those who do.”⁴

#3 Even if we don’t formally complain, we must be mindful not to spread negativity. We shouldn’t start rumors, create unnecessary drama, or fuel resentment. Instead, we should address the root of the issue with humility and turn to Hashem in tefillah. That is what He wants from us.

#4 Sometimes our complaints are valid, and it is completely acceptable to bring them before Hashem. There are times when Hashem acknowledges that complaints are justified. A society without the ability to voice legitimate concerns becomes stagnant—it lacks the drive to improve and grow. Healthy complaining is what leads to progress, innovation, and deeper relationships, whether with people or with God.

#5 In our own lives, we often struggle to understand Hashem’s ways. We ask difficult questions: Why did the Holocaust happen? Why am I facing challenges in health, finances, or personal struggles? Why are my friends or family suffering? Why are we surrounded by enemies who seek our destruction? Why are we so hated? We have plenty to complain about, and often, we are justified in our pain. The key is how we complain. When we direct our concerns to Hashem, we acknowledge that we don’t have all the answers. And sometimes, after expressing our worries, we must take a step back and allow Hashem to do what He does best.

My friend Rav Moshe Gersht explains that the difference lies in how we express our dissatisfaction.

1. A complaint often carries a negative charge—judgment rooted in ego.

2. An observation, on the other hand—“Oh, the food is cold; can we please heat it up?”—is not a complaint. It’s simply stating a fact and seeking a solution. There’s no blame, no attack, no need for defense. A complaint, in contrast, carries an underlying attitude of “I know better. This should be different. Life is wrong.”

Complaints rooted in resentment or a rejection of responsibility led to punishment. Alternatively when complaints are solution-focused, they become a pathway to growth. When we voice our concerns properly—with humility and trust—the sea splits, the water turns sweet, and the manna falls. That’s when we receive Hashem’s blessings.

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Previous posts on Parashas Beshalach:

1. See Daas Sofrim, Beshalach

2. Toldos Yaakov Yosef, Beshalach

3. The Baderech Haggadah, forthcoming

4. Lessons in Leadership, p. xxviii